


Not a Rule Breaker

by androidkisser



Category: Carnival Phantasm, Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-26 00:32:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14988878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androidkisser/pseuds/androidkisser
Summary: A good teacher, or the love she deserves?Can't she have both?Saber is 17 here. Tagged as underage to be safe. (E rating for later chapters.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As much as it pained me to leave it out, Medea does not have elf ears here. I know. I'm sorry.  
> The Medea I wrote is probably a little more like the Carnival Phantasm Medea - you know, the kind that's just a little obsessed with how cute Saber is, rather than... well. No spoilers. Saber is probably edging more towards "the girl who would be king", rather than the FSN version, but I think there's a little of both in there.
> 
> This is barely edited, nor is it going to be the best thing I've ever written. Let me know if there's any glaring faults or things you dislike, or leave a comment if you liked it!  
> Thanks! Wasshoi! Wasshoi!
> 
> For those wondering, the italics are terms used in kendo:  
> men = helmet with the grille on front  
> tengui = towel wrapped around head to protect it from the hard helmet  
> kote = gloves/wrist armor  
> shinai = wooden sword

Being roped into organising the inter-school kendo tournament was one thing; actually being forced to attend it was another entirely.

Medea sighed. When she'd taken on this teaching job, she hadn't known just how many extracurricular activities she'd have to supervise. It wasn't as if she minded during term-time, but this was supposed to be her summer break – a time to relax, to unwind, to casually grade end of year papers.

Oh, but this was just depressing, though, she thought. All but one of her own school's students had been eliminated early on, and that final match was fast approaching. She wasn't entirely uninterested in the result, but she would much rather be sat in her cosy little apartment with a book in one hand, and perhaps a glass of wine in the other.

She looked down at what was actually in her hand – not wine, but the schedule of events, unfortunately – and saw that her last student's match was next. It was a decidedly foreign name; Arturia, Pendragon. Medea had heard of her, at least, from the kendo coach. She was supposedly known as the 'Saber' of the dojo. Perhaps, if her reputation was well-earned, she'd fare better than her peers.

This wasn't the dojo, however. It was a re-purposed outdoor arena, and the midday sun was beating down on it with unrivalled intensity; if she had to hazard a guess, it was likely the hottest day of the summer so far. She didn't envy the entrants, dressed in their thick cotton gear, on a day like this. Still, she would hardly go so far as to say she felt guilty for wearing the light, white summer dress she'd chosen to combat the weather.

Medea shifted on the bench when she heard polite applause, craning her neck to get a better look. She could see their school's colours on the girl's uniform, but through the caged front of the _men_ and thick wrap of the _tengui_ , she couldn't make out any of her features. She was short, though, something seen as both a gift and a curse in the sport.

Her opponent was at least a head and a half taller than her – he was a burly looking boy, and he strode out to meet her with what could only be described as a powerful strut. If Arturia was bothered by his confidence, it didn't show.

They bowed to each other, seemingly respectfully on both sides – over the dull rumble of the crowd, Medea only just barely heard the boy taunt her from her front-row seat. Again, Arturia showed no signs of discomfort; she inclined her head, politely, then took up her stance.

When the shout came to begin, the boy instantly moved in, trying to use his superior height to his advantage – she was in his effective range long before he would be in hers, and so he was instantly on the offensive, aiming for a clean strike to her head.

Arturia was nimble on her feet, though it was clear she was having difficulty dealing with his aggressive technique. It wasn't long before his brute force approach bore fruit, as he deflected her attempted _kote_ strike off to the left, turning his hands over, and striking her right side.

More polite applause. Medea found herself frowning.

The second round began in much the same way, the boy's attitude and technique unchanging. Arturia's footwork kept him at bay this time, however; her opponent found himself on the defensive quickly, against a flurry of strikes directed to his torso and throat. Seemingly, she had gotten a handle on his style of fighting. A step forward, a feint, a thrust, and then –

A few cheers from the crowd, accompanied by the raising of a blue flag. She had taken the equalising point.

“She's really something, isn't she? This 'Saber' of yours,” a voice to Medea's right said, startling her out of her concentration on the fight. She recognised the voice as the principal of one of the other schools in the area, but she couldn't put a name to the wizened features of the man.

“Well, I'm... it's not as if I know her personally,” Medea replied, watching Arturia adjust her own _kote._ “It would be a shame if she lost to someone like this, though...”

“What was that?” the man asked. Apparently, she hadn't meant to say the second half of that sentence out loud.

“Ah, it'd... be a shame if she lost,” Medea echoed.

“Yes, yes, indeed! It's been a while since you've gotten past the heats, hasn't it?”

“I believe so,” she replied, idly. Given the calibre of their previous champions, it certainly wouldn't be hard to believe it.

The third round seemed to be over as quickly as it started. Medea hadn't even caught what had happened in the blur of movement, but there was a lot of angry gesturing and shouting on the boy's part, directed at one of the referees. He had ripped off his _men_ , revealing his furious face.

From what she could make out, they had both struck each other at the same time, but the boy was insistent that his strike had landed first, demonstrating pointedly with his _shinai_ in what even she, another foreigner, knew to be a disrespectful gesture. She had been here long enough to know that the dojo was meant to be a sacred place, regardless of whether it was the real thing, or simply an area dedicated to the practice, and etiquette was not to be casually discarded.

She looked over to Arturia, who had elected to stay out of the quarrel, sitting on her knees, her _shinai_ placed neatly across them. It was a display of such maturity and poise that pushed Medea over the edge into hoping that the boy was mistaken.

Two green flags were raised. His outburst had paid off.

Medea let out a little curse beneath her breath. She hadn't been that invested in the sport itself, but to see an impetuous brat win with such an attitude, over someone so... she took a deep breath. At the very least, she saw him being scolded by his own coach. Small mercies.

Arturia merely bowed politely to the victor, then began to pull her _men_ from her head. Her hair came loose from the light, messy bun that it had been confined to as it was freed of its leather prison, and she shook it to either side. Damp from sweat though it was, her blonde mane still shone in the sun, as if it were trying to rival its brightness.

Her cheeks were dusted pink from exertion, and her breathing was a little unsteady, but she most definitely still cast a dignified figure at the side of the grounds.

Medea bit her bottom lip. She hadn't expected the girl to be quite so pretty – no, it wasn't as if she was predisposed to it, but – she shook her head. Irrelevant, and not to mention inappropriate. A senior she might have been, but she was still a teacher at the same school. Perhaps not _her_ teacher, but...

She'd no doubt that the other students had found their own way home by now, given that this was the last heat of the day, and they likely felt they had no real reason to stick around. If she weren't obligated, perhaps she too would have – no, no. Then this girl would have had nobody in her corner, even if silently. That wouldn't have been good to find out after the fact.

She pushed herself off of her bench, excusing herself from the presence of the almost-too-apologetic principal next to her _(_ “ _ah, I'm sure next time, you'll –”)_ and making her way over to Arturia. She was sitting on the bench, turning over an empty water bottle in her hands, seemingly lost in thought.

“Arturia? You did well,” Medea said, softly, taking a seat next to her. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“I would be prouder if I had been swifter,” the girl replied without a thought, before realisation spread across her face. “Ah – you are... you teach one of my friends, I believe?”

Medea waved a dismissive hand. “Don't worry about that – are you alright?”

“I – yes? I am... not injured, if that is what you mean. You needn't worry.”

Her Japanese was so absolutely formal; so _proper_. It was endearing. Medea shifted on the bench.

“That too, but that isn't what I meant,” she said. “You don't mind what just happened?”

“It is... unfortunate, but if I had simply landed a more decisive blow –”

“If he hadn't acted like that, they might have had it go on to one more point,” Medea interjected with a frown. It certainly wasn't professional behaviour, but acting like a teacher certainly wasn't going to help.

“I suppose you could see it that way,” Arturia conceded.

“The next tournament isn't too far away,” offered Medea, aiming to restore a little hope. “A few months, in Osaka, I believe?”

“Yes, although... well, I do not think I shall enter,” the girl admitted. “My grades have been slipping, and if I am not succeeding on this front, then I should at least make more of an effort at the academic subjects.”

Medea's brow knitted together. It was clear she had a natural aptitude for the art, and it would be a shame if –

“What subjects are you struggling with?” she asked, cutting off her own train of thought prematurely.

“Social studies,” Arturia said, honestly, without a second's pause. “As for that, mainly History, but otherwise, Mathematics is still...”

“Ah,” Medea said, her pulse quickening, almost imperceptibly. “Two of my subjects.”

“Then I am sorry to be lowering the average,” Arturia said, dryly. There was a little smile crossing her lips. “Truthfully, I had told myself beforehand that if I did not reach the quarter-finals this time, I would put aside this foolish dream.”

“You're talented, though,” Medea protested, “and you're still young – there's plenty of time to refine your skills, you know?”

“Perhaps, but at what cost?”

This girl really was too mature for her age – it was troublesome. Medea could only wonder what could have gone on in her life to push her to this extreme.

“Do you go to a cram school?”

“I – I do, but it...”

“What is it?”

“I do not feel as if – well...” Arturia began, splaying her fingers against her chest delicately as she fished for her next words. “There does not seem to be much time for the teachers to concern themselves with my particular issues, so it does not feel...”

It was a common complaint, one that she heard often. The majority of cram schools in the area were focused primarily on passing entrance examinations, and there simply wasn't much time set aside for individual students' issues.

“I understand,” Medea said, before lowering her voice. “Well, if... if you would like, evenings aren't especially busy for me, so...”

Oh, she knew that she shouldn't, that she mustn't. But besides the inappropriate attraction she felt towards the girl, she also truly, genuinely didn't want her to drop something that she clearly loved, when she could likely help with the issues at hand.

Arturia inclined her head, softly, waiting for her to continue.

“If you'd like some extra tutoring, then I'd be happy to help.”

The girl's eyes widened.

“I could not possibly intrude like that,” she said, shaking her head fervently, her hair whipping from side to side.

“You wouldn't be,” Medea pressed, feeling herself sink deeper into the hole she had begun to dig. “If it was a problem, I wouldn't have offered.”

“I... are you certain? It really... only if you are...”

“I'm certain,” Medea said. “Don't fret so much. You won't have to drop your kendo.”

Arturia simply looked back at her, her eyes telling Medea everything she needed to know; that such kindness was not something she readily accepted, and that she truly was grateful.

“Thank you,” she said, softly, almost in a whisper. “I shall do my best not to disappoint you.”

“It's not like I'll be grading you,” Medea said, with a little sigh, but she couldn't stop herself smiling, nonetheless. “If you come to the staff room after school tomorrow evening, then we can –”

A sudden thought came to mind, one that filled her with a strange sense of worry.

“You – you should likely tell your parents that you'll be home a little later,” she said, almost choking on the words. “Don't simply –”

“Oh, I – do you know Shirou? He is in the same class as Issei-san, and you teach him, I think...”

“Yes, he's quite the truant, lately – why do you ask?”

“I live with him,” Arturia went on. “Oh, and with Fujimura-san too, I suppose...”

“Then, your parents –?”

“In England,” she said. “Well, Father is, at least – my Mother passed away some time ago.”

“I'm sorry to hear,” Medea said, pursing her lips. She felt the urge to draw the girl into a tight hug, but resisted. “I... suppose explaining it to Fujimura-san will be easy enough, then.”

Arturia laughed, then; it was only a soft chuckle, but it was a contender for one of the most pleasant sounds Medea had heard. She practically willed her blood away from her cheeks, unwilling to betray herself.

“She spends more time eating and napping than being either mine or Shirou's guardian,” she said, still smirking. “If she gives you any trouble over it, rest assured, it is merely token resistance.”

Medea returned the smile, but her mind was working quickly beneath it. It at least explained why she acted as she did, if she'd been practically looking after herself since arriving here.

“Then... in that case, as I was saying,” Medea continued, feeling a little relieved, “come by the staff room once school is over, and we'll sort something out. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” Arturia said, softly. “Thank you, again – ah, I...”

“What is it?”

“What am I to call you by?”

She hesitated for a moment. “By my name. Medea.”

“Medea...-sensei...?” Arturia said, as if tasting the word on her tongue. The way she said it sent shivers up the woman's spine.

“You needn't bother with the honorifics – it isn't as if either of us is a native, is it?”

“I suppose not,” replied the girl, with a little shrug. “Would you... mind my asking where your home country is?”

“It's called Georgia,” Medea replied. “It sits at the easternmost side of the Black Sea.”

“Ah,” Arturia murmured, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, I... have not heard of it.”

“It isn't exactly renowned for much,” Medea said, airily. “A rather sordid history, if nothing else.”

“History? Do not tease me so,” Arturia said, with a light laugh. “I tell you it is my worst subject, and you give me a test within minutes.”

 _Tease her so?_ A delightful thought crossed her mind, even if just for a second. _If only._

“Perhaps that's just my cruel streak,” Medea said; she could tell that the girl didn't know what to make of that comment, colour rising to the tips of her ears. “I can't treat all of my students so well, all of the time.”

Arturia remained silent, the blush spreading to the rest of her face – she looked down at her feet, in a somewhat fruitless attempt to disguise it. Medea bit her lip again, almost hard enough to draw blood, but not quite. She stood up slowly and turned around, only to crouch in front of the girl; she tentatively took Arturia's chin between her thumb and forefinger, easing her face upwards. Her skin was hot to the touch – searing hot, somehow – but yet softer than the silk of the dress she was wearing.

“I'm not being entirely serious,” she said, with a gentle giggle that belied her intent. “I almost never treat my students well – you may ask any of them.”

Arturia choked on a sound that sounded a lot like a laugh, cut short by nervousness.

“You are nothing like my own teachers,” she muttered, eventually, making no attempt to pull away from the gentle hold. “I... will see you tomorrow evening, then?”

Reluctantly, Medea let her hand fall, and found herself missing the feeling of her skin beneath hers – no matter how little of it – almost immediately.

“Indeed,” she hummed, straightening up. She extended the same hand to Arturia to help her to her feet – she took it, gratefully. Her hand was soft, too; a little callused compared to her own, though that was to be expected, given her hobby. The most adventurous thing Medea had ever held in her hands was a ladle.

It was more than just simply attraction; there was some bizarre kind of admiration that had taken hold of her. She had the strongest urge to simply take the girl in her arms, and praise her endlessly until her throat dried up.

As Arturia walked away, Medea simply watched. She ran a hand through her hair, threatening to undo the little braid at the side.

Her fingers still tingled from the touch.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It raised more than a few eyebrows when Arturia came to the staff room door, asking for a teacher by her first name.

“Ah, she's – a friend, first and foremost,” Medea had laughed, nervousness evident in her tone, as she closed the door behind her. It was difficult to justify it, really. Anyone watching their conversation at the tournament could easily have seen it as a casual pep-talk from a concerned teacher to their student, but when this new arrangement was put under the scrutiny of a small group of other adults, it looked... questionable.

Even something like extra tuition wasn't exactly on the table for the average student, but it wasn't as if it was unheard of.

As the door fell into place with a soft click, she let out a sigh of relief. Honestly, she had half been expecting an inquisition. Arturia was waiting, leaning against the windowsill and gazing out at the setting sun. She looked and was dressed differently – the school uniform was somehow flattering on her – to how she had at the tournament, but she still held the same power over her. She was positively radiant, bathed in the orange-red glow. Demure. Delicate. Composed. A thousand-and-one ways to describe her filled Medea's mind, to the point where she had to practically shake the words and thoughts from her head.

“Ah, you remembered, then,” Medea said, doing her best to sound like the needling teacher she knew she was at heart. “I was worried I'd be waiting here until the morning.”

Arturia's eyes flew open wide as she turned to face her, holding up a hand in front of her and waving it back and forth.

“I – I would not forget something so important! N-not when others have made concessions...”

She had taken it so literally, and it was beyond endearing.

“Do calm down,” Medea interrupted, stifling a laugh. “If I really thought you were the sort of student who wouldn't show, I wouldn't have waited.”

“Ah... I – I hope you did not have plans... I would hate to be getting in the way.”

Medea shook her head. Even if she had, those plans would have been nothing but sitting with her feet curled beneath her in her armchair, most probably with a mediocre novel, or spending more time than she should in the bar next to her apartment.

“Class 2-A's room should be just fine,” she said, gesturing along the corridor. “Did you bring your books with you?”

“Yes, of course,” Arturia replied, digging into her satchel and brandishing her copy of _Ancient History for the Modern World._ “A-as I said, I would not forget –”

“You must stop worrying,” interjected Medea, with genuine concern. “I'm here to help you, not to try to trip you up.”

She wondered for a moment how someone who stood so firm and steadfast with her _shinai_ in hand could seem so meek without it, then let the thought slide. The girl had come to learn, not to be dissected.

“I... yes. Thank you.”

Medea knocked before entering, just as a matter of politeness, before pushing open the door and holding it for Arturia. She rushed in swiftly, as if she wanted to cause the least amount of inconvenience possible.

Medea watched, as the girl pulled up a seat to a desk, tentatively spreading her work out over the table. It almost didn't register to her that she was waiting for _her_ to begin whatever lesson that she had planned.

“Ah, so then... why don't you start by showing me those tests?”

 

Time seemed to pass slowly, as she worked through the areas Arturia was having the most trouble with. She was certainly not dimwitted, but it was almost as if she had too much on her mind to be able to fit in the – admittedly, probably not very practical – information in the textbooks. The time seemed to pass _so_ slowly, that the ticking of the clock began to sound almost like water torture to her, while Arturia worked in silence after a little refresher on each subject.

Some of her notes were in English, and some were in Japanese – though Japanese was the language they had in common, it wasn't as if she didn't understand her fair share of the other.

“Your handwriting is a little messy, isn't it?” Medea chided gently, as Arturia got to the bottom of another page. “Maybe you've been getting the right answers all along, but your teachers simply can't read them?”

“Ah, is it truly that bad?” Arturia asked, tilting her head to examine her own handiwork. “I have never put much thought into it...”

“If you stopped gripping the pencil so tightly, as if it were a dagger, it wouldn't be quite so – here, if you –”

She stood up from her position sitting on the table in front of the girl, and moved behind her so as to get a better angle. It wasn't until she leaned over, that she realised just what a bad idea it was.

The smell of her hair – cinnamon. The warmth of her shoulder, as she accidentally – well, she thought it was accidentally, or rather hoped – brushed her chest against it. The softness of her fingers, and her willingness to let them be manipulated by hers, around the pencil. It was too much. Far too much.

“That does feel... a little more comfortable – it is odd, but... I suppose I will grow accustomed.”

“Yes,” was all Medea could manage, forcing herself upright again. She looked out of the window, absently, and found that the sun had already set; the artificial lights in the classroom had fooled her, entirely. She glanced at her watch – eight, already. “Ah, but – it's getting late, and I think we've made at least some progress tonight, don't you?”

“Y-yes, I... I am grateful,” Arturia said, her voice low, as she began to pack her things back into her bag. “I do hope I am not too slow of a learner...”

Medea frowned. Did her insecurities know no bounds?

“You're doing more than fine,” she said, in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. “Tell me, do your other teachers – no, never mind...”

Even from a strictly professional point of view, she wasn't happy with how the girl responded. It wasn't right.

“Hm?”

“It's nothing,” Medea lied.

“I see – tomorrow night is my kendo club, so I will not be able to attend, had you planned anything...”

“Oh, no, I hadn't intended on making it a daily occurrence,” replied Medea. Though, the thought of spending hours on end with her, each and every day, wondering what could come of – no, no. No. No. _No._

“Well, then, I – I shall be going... again, thank you, it truly is appreciated.”

Medea simply shook her head, lightly.

“You have to promise me one thing,” she said. “Just one.”

“Yes? What is it?”

The earnest, innocent look the girl gave her then, with her shining emerald eyes, was almost enough to lodge her heart permanently in her throat.

“That you must stop thanking me,” she finished, with difficulty.

Arturia blushed, and smiled, just a little. “It... that shall be rather a hard habit to break, but I will do my best.”

“I'm glad,” Medea said, smiling too, without really meaning to. “You should get going, then, before it gets too dark.”

Arturia nodded, then half-strode, half-skipped out of the room.

 _God._ That warm, cinnamon scent just wouldn't leave her alone.

Honestly, she wanted to see her succeed. There was no lie in that, no ulterior motive to the thought. She truly wanted to help her get back on her feet with her schoolwork, wanted to see her do well with her kendo – she wouldn't have even given a second thought to this career path if she didn't want her students to make it in life.

The fact that she wanted to hold her tight, and tell her that she was doing _such_ a good job, and reward her with soft little kisses on her hands, her forehead – was that any less pure?

 _Of course it is_ , she hissed, deep within the confines of her own mind. _She's a student._

Did that mean that she was any less deserving of affection, though? The girl was clearly starved of any kind of positive reinforcement, so would that –

Medea frowned, massaging her temples between her fingers, dispersing the thoughts as if they were a nasty clot in a vein. A mere two days, and already she was in this much of a state? Over a woman – no, a girl, no less?

She screwed her eyes together, and balled her fists against them, as if it would help to get the thoughts of her out of her head. When she finally opened them, she blearily caught sight of something on the floor, beneath the desk where Arturia had been.

It was a plush lion doll – a souvenir from the nearby zoo, going by the tag. It hadn't been here when they'd arrived, had it? No, the classroom had been empty, of both people and toys. That meant that it was _hers._

She held it to her chest, burying her face in the soft fuzz of the mane, and sighed. It definitely smelled like hers.

“Would it be so wrong?” she asked it, quietly.

Unfortunately, there was no answer.

 


End file.
